Drawing a Line
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: It was the expression that told him he had not crossed a line quite yet." Sweets has some fun. BB, as always. Enjoy!


**Spoilers:** Okay, so Sweets' counseling may have stopped ages ago in the US, but it hasn't even begun here, so. This is pre-Brennan-yelling-at-Sweets-for-being-a-twat.

And we made 'Slime' in Science today. Pretty cool stuff. Fluorescent, moldable rubber. There's grade 10 'Advanced' Science for you. Though, I think it had something to do with Organic Chemistry, only, no one bothered to tell us what.

**Disclaimer:** I noticed that fanfics always make Brennan the victim of suffrage, so I decided to make Booth the damsel this time. And this may officially be the longes thing I've ever written. I mean, in one chapter. Yeah.

**Author's Note:** Been swamped with homework, lately, so I've not been around to do the writing much, _and then_, my computer crashed, so I've had to do some transferring of stuff. But here's another little oneshot to have some fun with!

SEASON THREE STARTED HERE ON THURSDAY! Yep. That's how very, very far behind we are…

* * *

Booth groaned as he lifted his leg to the table, shifting his weight on the couch. Brennan shot him an amused look.

"What's wrong with your leg?" she asked casually. He looked at her warningly. She didn't flinch. He'd been in an irritable mood all day, and it wasn't just the regular mandatory-counseling-irritable.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with my leg, Bones. Let it go," he huffed, wincing as he moved it again, this time placing his foot on the floor. "Damn!"

"It looks like you've got a mild strain of a quadricep; most likely your rectus femoris." He glared at her. "It was probably caused by sprinting or kicking. How long ago did you do it?"

He glared for a few more seconds before answering. "It's none of your business, Bones," he informed her, jaw clenched.

"Well, actually, it _is_ my business. If you're injured I need to know. Have you seen a doctor?"

"_Bones_!" She stared at him blankly for a few more seconds, and he gave in. "Fine. I did it this morning, okay? I was late for work, so I ran from my car to the door, and it just started hurting. It means nothing. I'm fine."

She looked at him as if he were mad. What was there to be so defensive about? "Okay, Booth, I just wanted to know." She held up her hands in defense. "This kind of strain takes from two to ten days to heal, though. So it looks like desk duty for you," she mocked. She was getting an answer one way or another.

Maybe she could take it to Sweets.

His eyes narrowed. "I'm fine," he snapped. Before Brennan could reply, Sweets' childish head appeared from his office.

"Booth, Brennan! Glad you could make it," he beamed. Suddenly united, Booth and Brennan looked worriedly at each other. When Sweets was cheery, something was up. Usually something bad. "What's up?" he asked casually.

Brennan shrugged. "Booth's afraid he's getting old," she offered nonchalantly. Booth's eyes widened.

"Bones!" he hissed. Sweets regarded him with an amused but professionally interested expression.

"Agent Booth?"

"Don't even start," Booth warned. "I've had enough analysis for one morning." He sent Brennan a pointed look. She smirked. Sweets took the cue and invited them into the office silently, shoving the door open and moving to his seat.

Booth grunted, gritting his teeth. Brennan almost laughed, but put a hand to his elbow. "You gonna make it?" she teased. He looked thoroughly unamused.

"I'm fine," he said slowly, almost menacingly. She shrugged, though she kept her hand just next to his elbow until they reached the door.

As soon as they'd settled in their respective chairs, Sweets turned to Booth. "So, you're feeling old?" he asked unceremoniously, a grin playing on his lips. _Oh, the irony,_ he thought sardonically.

"I am _not_ feeling old, kid," he griped. "I just hurt myself."

"He strained a muscle on his way to work this morning," Brennan chimed in. Sweets couldn't tell if she was trying to torture Booth or if she was just clueless. Booth, however, could, and narrowed his eyes again.

"Is that right, Agent Booth?" he mused rhetorically. Booth sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Why are we here? I can't believe it's simply to discuss my age," he said, just catching himself before trying to cross his legs. Sweets smiled.

"No. It's not. I have a small assignment for you both." The mentioned 'both' groaned. "I want you to draw each other." A small smile formed on his face, as if he were totally proud of his plan.

Booth and Brennan simply stared at him blankly. "Draw? What do you mean, draw?" Booth asked with a hint of fear in his voice. Sweets smiled again. Obviously someone had never taken Art in high school.

Before Sweets could inform Booth that not being able to draw well is not only nothing to be ashamed of, but also irrelevant, Brennan seemed to finally process the task.

"Draw? What possible 'therapy' could drawing each other give us?" she asked cynically, hooking her fingers in air quotes. Booth turned to Sweets expectantly. Sweets was usually nervous when the two of them were staring at him so menacingly, but this time he was having too much fun.

"It's not therapy, Doctor Brennan. It's a partner exercise. I'd like to see how you portray each other," he told them nonchalantly.

"Why?" Booth questioned insistently. Sweets almost laughed; Booth sounded like a four year old.

"Because I said you have to, Agent Booth," Sweets said pleasantly, handing them both a pad of paper and a pencil. Booth looked at the paper as if it were a foreign object. Sweets watched as Brennan opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it just as quickly before putting her pencil to the paper.

Sweets smiled in a small victory, turning his attention back to Booth. It looked as if Booth would be a little harder to convince.

"Agent Booth?"

Booth's head snapped up. His expression went from confusion to sulking. Sweets just nodded to Brennan.

"Your partner has already begun," he pointed out, deciding to play on Booth's competitive side.

Booth frowned again, but remained silent as his pencil went to the paper. Sweets grinned.

"Ten minutes."

* * *

"Okay. You've had enough time. Let's see them!" Sweets smiled, rubbing his hands together in the most cliché villain gesture Brennan was sure she'd ever seen. Booth and Brennan locked eyes, looking both worried and violent. Sweets continued smiling.

"You go first, Agent Booth, as you're so impatient for this to be over."

Booth glared. It wasn't fair when Sweets got to be the patronizing one. Booth sighed before tossing the paper stroppily onto Sweets' lap. Sweets glanced at the picture, raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth, then looked at Brennan. She was paying full attention, though she was pretending not to be interested.

After a minute of studying, Sweets handed the picture to Brennan. This time, Brennan's expression was not controlled.

Gawking, she turned to Booth.

"This skull is totally wrong," she began. She suddenly seemed to become distracted. "Booth, why am I wearing no shirt?"

Booth's eyes widened, as if he hadn't thought she'd pick up on it. Or he hadn't meant to do it at all. Sweets perked up. It was time to have some fun.

"Yes, Agent Booth, why _isn't _she wearing a shirt?" he asked. The innuendo in his voice was only just masked by professionalism. Booth rolled his eyes.

"It's a stick figure!" Booth pointed out, annoyed. Crossing his arms and sinking further into his seat, he frowned at the wall. Brennan turned the picture to the side in a somewhat comical gesture.

"Have I broken both my ankles?"

"Huh?" Booth demanded. Brennan pointed irately to her stick-figure's feet. Booth sighed.

"Those are your boots, Bones," he informed her, a little offended. He knew he couldn't draw, but that didn't make this any easier.

"Well, they don't look like boots," she stated. Booth sat up a little straighter, spreading his palms.

"It's a _stick figure_!" he exclaimed.

"With two broken ankles and no shirt…"

"Lemme see what _you_ drew, then," Booth defended.

"No, you'll just make fun of me," she whined. It hadn't occurred to her to draw a stick figure, and she was well aware that her drawing skills were somewhat lacking. She pulled her drawing to her chest protectively.

"Yeah, well, you know what? It's called Karma, Bones," Booth huffed, grabbing for the drawing. Brennan moved away as far as her chair would allow. "Now lemme see."

"Karma's Buddhist, Booth; you're Catholic," she said automatically, a little confused. Booth's jaw clenched.

"Now you're just changing the subject."

"I am not!" she protested. "_You_ brought up Karma."

"Lemme see yours," he persisted.

"My Karma?" she asked, now totally lost. Booth stared at her blankly.

"You _picture_, Bones."

Realization dawned, and she held out the pad. "Oh. Here."

Sweets smiled.

* * *

"I can't believe you labeled me!" Booth laughed incredulously as they got into the car.

"What's so funny about that?" she asked defensively.

"You didn't draw a picture, Bones, you drew a _diagram_!" He shook his head, amused. "Once a Squint…" He let the sentence trail off as he continued to shake his head. Grinning, he glanced at Brennan, who was staring, annoyed, out the windshield.

"Just drive, Booth," she huffed, somewhat more indignantly than intended. Booth's eyes wandered to the road ahead of him, but the smile stayed for the rest of the drive.

* * *

"So?" Angela asked abstractly as Booth and Brennan wandered into Brennan's office, bickering. They looked up in question, but their annoyed expressions were enough to make Angela's hands snap up. "Whoa. What the hell did Sweets _do_ to you two today?"

"Don't even ask," Booth grumbled, throwing his coat over the couch. Brennan frowned and picked it up, placing it on the coat-rack in the doorway. Booth didn't even notice, he just continued to sulk, sinking onto the couch.

Angela perched herself on the arm next to him, placing an arm around his shoulders mockingly. "Poor G-Man," she sighed. "Never could get a break from the trials of a twelve-year-old psychiatrist…" She clicked her tongue in mock distaste. Booth gave her a scathing smile. She only smirked, turning to Brennan.

Raising an eyebrow, Brennan shrugged. "He made us draw each other," she said nonchalantly, as if she had better things to do. Angela grinned widely as Brennan donned her lab coat.

"_Please _tell me you at least drew each other naked," she sighed.

"What? Angela!" Brennan exclaimed.

"Oh, come on! If I had have had Booth to draw when I was in college?" She trailed off with a flick of the eyebrows. Booth smiled at Angela self-importantly.

"He would make a very good specimen, yes, but not even Sweets and his juvenile mind are that perverse," she shrugged, not quite realizing what she'd implied. Angela looked at Booth with a smirk.

"Hear that, Booth? Brennan thinks you're hot," Angela drawled, grinning. Before Booth could speak, Brennan chastised Angela.

"I didn't say that! There is a big difference between being a 'good specimen' and being… 'Hot'," she quoted awkwardly. Deciding suddenly that she really wanted to be in the lab, Brennan grabbed Booth's coat and walked over to hand it to him. "I believe that when studying art, one needs or wants a specimen-"

"Can we please stop calling me a 'specimen'?"

"-That has good musculature and symmetry," Brennan finished, ignoring Booth's interruption. Angela raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever you say, Brennan. But I know." And with that, she turned and left.

"Know?" Brennan asked Booth. Booth looked at her skeptically.

"How the hell am _I _supposed to know what Angela knows?" he demanded. Brennan rolled her eyes.

"No need to get snippy…" she breathed, handing him his coat. "I've got a lot of work to do."

"Uh huh. Yeah. Just, uh…"

She looked at him in question.

"Can you help me up?" He looked unsurely at his injured leg. Brennan had to consciously keep a straight face. She didn't quite succeed, and Booth glared at her. "Now this is why we have to see Sweets," he said, pointing at her. Brennan pulled a face.

"We had to go see Sweets because you arrested my father, Booth," she pointed out. Booth rolled his eyes.

"That was rhetorical, Bones… Just help me up?" he asked. Brennan smiled, enjoying having Booth at her mercy. He seemed to realize and raised his eyebrows at her. Finishing her moment of basking, she held out her hand. Smiling a little self-consciously, he took it, pulling himself up, making sure not to accidentally tug Brennan forward and into him.

In his care, however, he managed to pull himself up and into Brennan. Shocked, she lost her footing and collapsed, pulling Booth with her. He let out a yelp as his leg bent, sending a string of pain through his lower body. Giving up on gallantry, he laid back on the floor, groaning quietly.

"You're being a baby," Brennan sighed, rolling her eyes. The man had been tortured, shot, blown up. And a strained muscle had him groaning on the floor. He pouted at her.

"It hurts!" he whimpered pathetically. Rolling her eyes again, Brennan knelt on the floor next to him. She put a hand to his thigh, not noticing when his eyes widened.

"Geez, Bones, a little warning!" he gasped, half out of pain, half out of surprise. Her eyes flicked only briefly to his before turning back to her task. He squirmed, trying to move out of her grasp.

"Stay still, Booth!" she scolded. He saw her expression and did as he was told; only wincing occasionally as she prodded at his leg. She bent his knee.

"Ow, Bones!"

"Baby."

Just as Booth was about to respond, Brennan's hand moved to the back of his thigh. His words caught in his throat, and the pain was replaced by something much harder to control. He gritted his teeth, sucking in a deep breath as her hands continued to go on their oblivious way.

Brennan really was quite oblivious as to the effect she was having on her partner. She was partially concerned for his health, but for the most part, she was concentrating so hard on keeping the concern for his physical wellbeing there at all. She forced her eyes to stay on her hands, not on where they were. Or where they were _near_.

At that thought, she scolded herself. It wasn't right to be thinking these things. Ever.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the thoughts from her mind, moving her hand further towards Booth's knee, not noticing that his body relaxed and he heaved a sigh of relief. Gaining no reaction, Brennan's hands moved up his leg again, and Booth yelped as his muscles contracted automatically.

Brennan's eyes snapped to his. And stayed there. Booth opened his mouth, only to shut it again. Brennan cleared her throat.

"Um… Yes. I believe it's a strain of the rectus femoris. It should be, um… it should be-"

"Better."

"Yes. It should be better."

"Soon."

"Yeah, soon. Two to, to uh-"

"Ten…" Booth stumbled. "Before; you said, uh, ten."

"Yes, I did," Brennan muttered.

Their eyes were locked, as were Brennan's hands. Booth's jaw tightened with self-control and he moved his hand to where Brennan's was, meaning to take it off. At least, he _thought_ he'd meant to take it off.

Brennan's eyes widened slightly as Booth's hand covered hers, seemingly with the intention of keeping it there. Just as she was about to tug her hand away, she noticed Booth's eyes narrowing, as if he had just formed a brilliant plan. Brennan's instincts began to tell her to be afraid. Fortunately for Booth, she wasn't particularly keen on heeding her instincts.

Booth's mouth twitched, and before she could react, he was grinning at her. She frowned at him a little, confused, but couldn't help the flickering smile that played on her face.

"Say, Bones," Booth began. Brennan knew this was going nowhere safe. "Where's this on your diagram, huh?" he asked, flicking his eyes to where their hands still sat. When she looked back up at him, he was giving her a full-force Charm Smile. He was enjoying himself. Brennan glared, but decided to play along. She would make this her game. She leaned forwards to give her insult the full effect.

"I don't know, Booth. Somewhere under your 'COCKY' buckle," she retorted. He raised his eyebrows, somewhat impressed by her comeback, and somewhat amused by it. Booth moved in a little closer still.

"And is your hand there, too?" he dared. He wasn't quite sure how far he could, or how far he _wanted_ to take this; but his mouth, and a few other parts of him, wanted to know. Badly.

Brennan's face registered only surprise. He almost hoped she hadn't really heard him. Brennan cleared her throat as if about to speak, only to stare powerlessly at Booth. There wasn't much she could say to that.

Booth's expression changed as he stared at her for a few more seconds. He stopped grinning, instead now looking puzzled. She cocked her head with the slightly confused, slightly amused expression he'd grown to like. It was the expression she had when she was finally being open about their relationship. It was the expression that said she would understand one day, even if she couldn't now.

It was the expression that told him he had not crossed a line quite yet.

Taking it as a good sign, he moved closer, not to give her time to pull away, but to give himself time to register exactly what he was doing. _Though_, he suddenly thought, _it would probably be better if-_

His thought train stopped.

Brennan's lips were pressed against his; and not subtly.

Neither thought it possible to be so still and so persistent at the same time.

Neither registered that Brennan's grip tightened under Booth's hand. He turned her hand in him subconsciously, linking their fingers.

When they pulled apart, all Booth could do was smile at her, still reeling from the kiss. From the fact that _she_ had kissed _him_. Brennan opened her mouth to say something, just as someone shouted her name from the corridor.

At the sound of her name, Brennan tugged herself away from Booth. She was barely in time, gaining her balance just as Angela whirred though the door.

"Brennan, Hodgins needs-"

On seeing them, Angela stopped dead, mouth still open. She looked from Booth, who was sitting on the floor, apparently either on drugs, or _very_ distracted, to Brennan, who looked as if she had just stolen the proverbial cookie.

Angela smirked. _She's certainly tasted something_… she quipped to herself, wishing there was someone there to share her joke with. Instead, she looked again at Brennan who looked to be formulating a plausible defense.

"Oh. My. _God_!" Angela breathed. She was now grinning at the very guilty-looking partners, probably imagining all the dirty things she could.

"What the hell did Sweets _do_ to you two?" she demanded again, half to herself. This time, however, the implication of her question was quite changed. She shook her head, smiling. "Oh, don't look so guilty, Bren. And Booth?"

Booth, who had since stood up, ignored her.

"Booth!" His head snapped up. "Don't ignore this like last time," she commanded, only making it _sound_ like a suggestion. Booth pouted slightly and Angela looked at him threateningly. "I'm serious. I'm trusting you to be the adult one about this, Booth."

She ignored Brennan's, "Angela!" and continued speaking to Booth, taking a few steps closer so she could talk without Brennan hearing. Brennan frowned at them.

When Angela pulled back, Booth looked utterly terrified before slowly breaking into a grin as Angela left the room. Brennan looked at him cautiously.

"What, uh, what did Angela say to you?" she struggled as Booth moved dangerously closer. Unfortunately, anywhere within sight was too close. Booth smiled as he leaned in closer still, apparently made very confident by whatever Angela had said.

"She said maybe you should draw me some time," he whispered, his voice low. Brennan pulled back to raise an eyebrow at him, apparently not believing what he had said. Quickly realizing that Angela had probably said something much dirtier, Brennan smirked, walking past Booth to grab her discarded lab coat.

Pulling something out of her pocket, she tossed it to Booth, before walking swiftly out of her office. Booth looked at his hands; they held a scrunched up piece of paper. Smiling as he realized what it was, he opened it. Looking at her rendition of his belt buckle he laughed.

_Cocky, my ass._

* * *


End file.
